


beautiful oblivion

by the_problem_with_stardust



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types
Genre: Alien Invasion, Alternate Universe - Soulmates, Avengers Tower, Battle Couple, Canon What Canon, Canon-Typical Violence, Clint Barton & Natasha Romanov Friendship, Deaf Clint Barton, Fluff, Happy Ending, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Soulmate-Identifying Marks, Soulmates, avengers avenging, who knows not me
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-31
Updated: 2019-02-07
Packaged: 2019-09-26 13:44:20
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 8,869
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17142830
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/the_problem_with_stardust/pseuds/the_problem_with_stardust
Summary: Even after decades apart, Bucky still hadn’t learned how to say no to Steven Grant Rogers and his goddamn puppy eyes. Which was how he found himself here, standing just outside the elevator on the common floor of Avengers tower.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [USSFriendship](https://archiveofourown.org/users/USSFriendship/gifts).



> For [@ussfriendship!](http://ussfriendship.tumblr.com/)
> 
> You gave me a lot of freedom with this prompt (AHHHHH) and this fic kind of got away from me. But I tried for fluff, happy ending, soulmates, and hurt/comfort. Hope you enjoy!

    

    

Even after decades apart, Bucky still hadn’t learned how to say no to Steven Grant Rogers and his goddamn puppy eyes. Which was how he found himself standing just outside the elevator on the common floor of Avengers tower.

“Hello, Jarvis,” Steve said, politely. “If it’s not too much trouble, could you let everyone know that Bucky’s here?”

Bucky looked around for whoever Steve was addressing, memorizing the layout of room and taking stock of weak points and exits. Seriously, who thought an entire wall of windows was a good idea?

“Of course, Captain.” 

The disembodied voice had Bucky’s hand twitching toward his hip.

“Calm down, Buck. That’s just Jarvis. He runs the place.” Steve frowned. “Actually, I’m not really sure what he is. Technology of some sort.”

Lips twitching into a ghost of a smile, Bucky shook his head. “You really shoulda paid more attention to those expos I dragged you to.”

“In my defense, I wasn’t planning on waking up in Stark’s future.” Steve’s grin was subdued, but he fell back easily into their old pattern. “And there aren’t even flying cars.”

“Just weapons of mass destruction and freakin’ aliens,” Bucky muttered. He tried not to be bitter about the future, but damn, was it difficult.

Steve opened his mouth, probably ready to argue some of the good points like the annoying optimist he was, when they were interrupted again by the voice in the sky.

“Agent Barton is the only one on site I am afraid.”

A frown crossed Steve’s face. “Not even Sam?”

“Mr. Wilson left upon hearing you were bringing Sargent Barnes.” Jarvis sounded as apologetic as a computer could. “He thought you two would need time to catch up.”

“Right.” Steve shook off the oddly hurt look. “I can show you around if you’d like?”

Bucky was about to respond when a slumped figure shuffled into the kitchen, form completely shrouded in blankets. A wary glance at Steve showed that this wasn’t an abnormal event.

Rolling his eyes, Steve watched the fluffy purple person – Bucky assumed it was a person anyway – fumble through the process of making coffee. It wasn’t until the pot finished brewing that he spoke.

“Buck, meet Agent Clinton Barton. He just got back from a mission.”

The figure turned, mug in hand, then startled at the sight of Bucky and Steve standing in the living area. Almost in slow motion, the mug fell to the ground, shattering against the tile.

“Aw, coffee, no,” the mass of blankets croaked sadly at the floor.

Bucky blinked. “Agent?” he asked, shooting Steve a look.

“One of our best,” Steve answered, as tiny bots scrambled out from under the cupboards to clean up the mess of porcelain and coffee. It reminded Bucky of the rats in the shithole apartment he and Steve had been evicted from before the war.

Cursing quietly, Barton grabbed a new mug and filled it from the pot. He shuffled to one of the bar stools and shed all his blankets but one. Looking from the hand clutching the final blanket around him to the one holding his coffee, he sighed. Then tossed the blanket over the stool and reached for two tiny devices sitting on the countertop.

Once the devices were in his ears, he turned to Bucky and Steve. “Good morning,” he said, taking a long sip from his mug.

Bucky twitched slightly, but Steve just smiled. “’Morning, Clint. Heard you got back late last night.”

Clint shrugged, downing the rest of his coffee. He flicked his gaze over to Bucky and set down the empty mug. “Had some, uh. Complications.” Sheepishly, he scratched at the back of his neck, dragging up the hem of his shirt far enough to expose a mess of bruises on his torso.

Snorting, Steve shook his head. “Complications, eh?”

“In my defense, the building had it coming.” Clint wandered back to the coffee pot, dumping the remaining liquid into his mug.

“I heard you leveled the whole block.”

Clint shrugged, unrepentant. “Good. Maybe they can build something there that isn’t a HYDRA base.”

As the words left his mouth, he shot Bucky an apologetic look. But Bucky just smirked.

“Oh. I’m Clint.” Clint said suddenly, like he’d just realized he hadn’t introduced himself.

Steve grinned at him brightly. “Clint, meet Bucky.”

“Sorry about that time in Chechnya,” Clint offered the hand not holding his mug to shake.

Blinking, Bucky shook it. With his metal arm, but Clint didn’t show any indication that he even noticed.

“I guess you’re forgiven. Seeing how I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

“Oh. Cool,” Clint glanced down, taking in the fact that he was only wearing purple boxers and a faded t-shirt. “I should probably go put on clothes.”

They watched him go, balancing his mug and an armload of blankets.

“So, that was Clint.”

Bucky stared at Steve, incredulous, then choked out a laugh. Steve practically beamed at him.

“Come on, I’ll take you for that tour.”

Following Steve back to elevator, Bucky rubbed at his forearm. Right over where the words _Good morning_ were inked into his skin in a barely legible scrawl.

\---

\---

The thing about soulmates was that no two relationships were exactly the same. The most common case was having your soulmate’s first words. But it wasn’t the only way; the words could be said in the heat of passion, after falling in love, or even right before death. According to all of the research Bucky had done since coming out of the ice in Wakanda, soulmates weren’t always requited. And some people didn’t have words at all.

But when he walked into Steve’s quarters, he knew.

“And you can stay in my spare room. Or the studio, but we’d have to move the bed.” Steve led him through his living space, warm and cozy and larger than anywhere Bucky had ever lived. “Or there’s a couch too that’s pretty comfy, if you’d…” Steve paused, realizing Bucky wasn’t behind him anymore.

There were hints in everything Steve said, stories omitted, details skipped over. But _this_. Bucky had spent twenty years picking up after Steve and there was no way he lived in this apartment by himself.

The cup full of art supplies on the coffee table was proof enough. Bucky couldn’t remember the number of times he’d sat on their shitty old couch in Brooklyn only to be stabbed with a wayward pencil. If not for the super soldier serum, he’d probably have died of lead poisoning by the age of thirty.

“So, Stevie,” he said, noticing that some of the frames on the wall contained familiar sketches, probably rescued from Steve’s haphazard ways by his mystery housemate. “Which one of these lucky bastards is your soulmate?”

Because maybe some people weren’t fortunate enough to find their soulmate, but there was no doubt in his mind that if Steve was shacking up with someone, they were The One.

There was a telling silence as Steve blushed, hands tugging at the hem of his shirt. “Sorry Buck, I wanted to tell you. Really. I just didn’t know how to bring it up.”

Bucky took a step closer to the wall, studying the faces captured in ink and paper. He recognized some of them – himself, Peggy, some of the boys – but there was one man whose face was repeated several times.

“He’s a looker, Steve.” Bucky turned away from the pictures, smiling. “Com’ere.”

Pulling his best friend in for a hug, Bucky tried to be happy for him. Because if anyone deserved happiness, it was Steve Rogers. And Bucky wasn’t going to be bitter about the sheer number of times he heard _Good Morning_.

Which reminded him. “Yours were ‘don’t you dare’ right?”

Steve lifted up the edge of his shirt, revealing _Don’t say it, don’t you say it_. The sight was enough to shake Bucky’s sour mood.

“Glad you didn’t change, Stevie.” Because Steve Rogers was, first and foremost, an ass.

Schooling his face into the kicked puppy look that hadn’t worked on Bucky in over seventy years, Steve was clearly trying to come up with a story. One that Bucky would definitely relay to his soulmate as soon as they were introduced.

“Sam?” he asked, remembering the earlier conversation with the ceiling. “Mr. Wilson?”

Steve blushed again, and Bucky barely bit back a grin. He took back everything. The future was great.

\---

\---

The first time Bucky ran into Barton in the range, he didn’t even realize the other man was there.

Stark had gifted him with a set of non-lethal handguns for practicing with. It had been a rough beginning between the two of them, but Bucky knew the guns were Stark’s idea of an olive branch. The more time they’d spent together, the more in common they found between themselves.

While HYDRA brainwashing Bucky and ordering him to kill the Starks was still the elephant in the room, Tony was doing his best to frame the situation as one similar to his in Stark Industries. Everyone in the tower had blood on their hands and there was no point in flinging rocks when all of their houses were made of glass.

Somehow, target practice had become therapeutic. Bucky efficiently emptied the clip of one gun into a range of targets staggered at different distances. He surveyed the damage, frowning at how the new weapon’s recoil pulled to the left.

“Not bad,” a voice that was not Jarvis called from above.

Bucky whipped around, eyes on the rafters. The bullets in his gun may not penetrate flesh, but he was sure he could still do considerable damage.

“Probably in the top five marksmen I’ve ever seen.” The voice had moved, losing some of it’s echoing quality. In fact, it almost seemed familiar. “Maybe even third best in the tower.”

Bucky rolled his eyes. Yep, that was Barton.

“After Tony and Nat?” he asked, dropping his hypervigilance.

There was an offended noise, followed by Barton rappelling from the shadows.

He dropped down in front of Bucky with a totally unnecessary backflip. “I am willing to bet that I’m the better shot.”

“What are we betting on?” Because Steve wasn’t the only one too dumb to walk away from a fight.

Barton grinned. “Bruce is making dinner tonight. If I win, I get your naan.”

And those were definitely odds worth fighting for. Bucky adjusted his stance, correcting for the recoil, and took a shot.

\---

\---

“Barnes. Pssst. Psssst. Barnes.”

Bucky rolled his eyes. “We are literally the only ones in here, Barton.”

They were hanging out in the movie lounge while the rest of the team went on an Avengers call. Clint was on medical leave, extended _again_ because Jarvis ratted him out to the onsite medical group. Something about disobeying the whole ‘not setting foot in the range’ order that was supposed to last until his knee healed up.

Clint, being his usual smartass self, had taken the words at face value. Which meant Bucky spent the last month getting abruptly summoned by Jarvis at all hours of the day (and night) to rescue his fellow sniper from whatever tight-spot he’d gotten himself into.

The first incident happened when Clint was still supposed to be in medical. To his credit, he’d managed to make it all the way to his bow locker before his arms gave out. Walking the distance on his hands might have been impressive, had he not managed to rip out every single stitch in his torso and somehow shifted his broken ribs out of place. Bucky had taken one look at the guy before tossing him over his shoulder and marching his ass right back to medical.

The seventh and final escape attempt involved a wheeled hospital bed and one of Tony’s suit gauntlets. Bucky was out with Sam and Steve that weekend and only found out when Clint started texting him out of boredom. Which was probably for the best. Bucky would’ve ripped him a new one for trying something so stupid.

As it was, he assigned himself to Clint-watching duty and did his best to keep the bedbound archer entertained with videogames and stories about the stunts Stevie pulled back in the forties. Clint returned the favor with what he’d termed ‘the fossil’s guide to the twenty-first century.’

Which was how they ended up here, watching this horrid flick because Clint insisted it was ‘a classic.’ Bucky wasn’t convinced. Especially when the sharks made it ALL THE WAY TO SPACE during the third one. He’d ranted for at least an hour about the utter ridiculousness of the entire thing while Clint shoveled popcorn into his face and snickered.

But they’d started this journey and dammit if Bucky wasn’t going to see it through.

“Baaaaaarnes,” Clint whined, letting the bag of grape twizzlers fall to the floor.

Sighing, Bucky pushed his hair back from his eyes. If he was understanding the situation correctly, one of the characters had a chainsaw for an arm. Seemed kind of impractical. Not that he could really talk.

Clint clearly gave up on the verbal approach, instead flopping over Bucky’s thigh. “Pay attention to me.”

“You’re a punk,” Bucky said, the response almost automatic. Just like the way he draped an arm over Clint’s chest.

He received a purple-stained grin for his efforts.

It had started slowly. So slowly Bucky almost didn’t notice.

The way Clint had slipped under his walls as easily as he crept through the damn ceiling vents and stayed there. The way Bucky sought him out after each mission. The way Bucky wanted to know how Clint's lips felt beneath his own, words be damned.

It started slowly, but the realization was sudden and cold. Like an enemy sniper, like metal straight out of cryo. Oblivious, Clint shifted around on the couch, tucking his bare feet under Bucky’s thigh. He kept chattering, gesturing wildly with the hand not holding the popcorn.

 _I love him_ , Bucky thought again, letting it settle and take root.

 _I love him_.

And the jagged feeling in his chest shifted to something warm and sure.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> yes they're watching sharknado. poor bucky's gonna have to sit through 6 of them


	2. Chapter 2

Bucky jerked awake, Zola’s voice echoing in his mind. He struggled free of the blankets that had wrapped themselves around his legs and sat up.

 _It’s not real_ , he repeated to himself, over and over. Despite getting his breathing under control, Bucky knew he wasn’t going back to sleep. At least not before the sun was high in the sky.

Quietly, he slipped out of his room and padded down the hallway. The door to Steve’s bedroom was ajar and Bucky smiled. For all that he and Sam bickered, Bucky was truly happy that his best friend had found someone able to put up with his nonsense.

Unconsciously, he rubbed at his own words.

He had glimpsed Clint’s once. Not for long enough to read, but enough to see that the handwriting was off and none of the words reminded him of their meeting. It bothered Bucky more than he was willing to admit.

Getting into the elevator and hitting the button for the common floor was almost automatic. Once there, Bucky left the lights off and put on a pot of coffee. His enhanced night vision helped, but he was also fairly certain he could measure out the grounds and pour water in his sleep.

Like clockwork, the coffee pot switched off and Clint shuffled into the room. His eyes were still closed, and Bucky had to grab his shoulder to stop him from walking into a chair. Clint patted clumsily at his wrist in thanks and continued on his zombie-like way.

Rolling his eyes, Bucky shoved an already full mug into Clint’s questing hands. Then he steered them both out to the couches.

“Hey Jarvis, could you please put the movie back on?” Bucky asked, settling onto their usual sofa and dragging the fluffy purple blanket off the back cushions.

Clint slumped beside him, wiggling until he was mostly covered and tucked snuggly under Bucky’s arm. On the screen, the first _Lord of the Rings_ movie flickered to life around where they’d left off during their last ‘insomnia party,’ as Clint liked to call their late-night escapades.

Their routine was… nice… for all that it was rooted in their traumatic pasts. But having someone there to banish the ghosts with scathing commentary about a fake archer’s form was soothing, in a way.

Bucky let himself be lulled to the edge of sleep by the images flashing across the screen and the comforting weight of the man beside him. At some point, Clint drifted off completely and Bucky pried the empty mug from his lax fingers to set on the coffee table. Clint’s bright purple hearing aids were absent, and Bucky felt his heart skip a little at how comfortable Clint was around him.

\---

\---

 _Beep beep beep beep_.

Bucky tried to roll away from the incessant noise but found himself pinned. When he pried his eyes open, it was to the sight of the _Fellowship_ credits scrolling across the screen and a sleep-warm body sprawled over top of him. The Assemble alarm was blaring through the common room.

Knowing Clint’s relationship with sleep was as tumultuous as his own, Bucky was loathe to wake him. But Clint would be furious if he got left behind. Especially since he’d been cleared for duty.

“Com’on, let me up,” Bucky mumbled, though Clint couldn’t hear him.

He struggled to a sitting position, still feeling loose and sleepy. The movement earned him a grumbled protest and Clint swatted at his arm. For a moment, Bucky was overwhelmed by how much he _wanted_. He wanted to wake up to this contented feeling every morning. He wanted to fall asleep listening to Clint’s outrageous commentary on the implausibility of the longhaired elf-man’s archery skills.

His words burned underneath his long-sleeved sleep shirt.

Beside him, Clint was gradually fighting his way into the waking world. Bucky wrapped an arm around his shoulders, effectively drawing his attention.

He made the gesture for ‘hostiles’ and Clint groaned.

“Fucking fuckers can’t let me sleep.”

Bucky snorted, letting go of the other man and standing up. He offered a hand – the metal one – to Clint, who grabbed it without hesitation, hauling himself to his feet. Together, they went to join the rest of the team in the ready room.

And it wasn’t until Steve dropped a pointed glance at their still-joined hands that Bucky realized Clint hadn’t let go.

\---

\---

“Why can’t these dicks just stay on their own planets?” Clint’s voice crackled over the coms.

On the street below, Bucky could practically see Steve’s shoulders move with the force of his sigh. “Hawkeye, these channels are public record.”

Same old Steve, trying to make the best impression while also kicking bad guys in the head.

Bucky aimed for one of the airships, taking it down over the Hudson where it’d hopefully not crush anything important. The environmentalist people wouldn’t be happy though.

He tapped his com, “Aye, Cap. Ignore Hawkeye, he’s a bit of an egg.”

“ _You’re_ an egg,” Clint said. “At least, I think. These are old-timey insults, right?”

Grinning, Bucky aimed for another airship. Messing with Clint – And Tony. And Sam to be honest. – was one of his favorite pastimes. Especially when Steve joined in.

“Can we focus?” Sam asked, always ready to back up his soulmate. Even if he was well aware that Steve had the dirtiest mouth out of all of them.

Pulling the trigger, Bucky blasted the second airship out of the sky. This time over Washington Square Park, which was less ideal than the river, but hopefully the local law enforcement had evacuated in the way they’d planned. Then again, everyone always seemed to be tripping over themselves to do whatever Captain America asked.

Really, it was good Bucky was back. If just to keep Stevie from getting bigger than his britches.

“How’s your little friend?” Tony asked, zipping past in the pursuit of the aliens on their flying motorcycle things. Christ, Bucky hated the twenty-first century.

He hefted the plasma RPG, watching the final airship still hovering over a potentially populated area. It was a weapons upgrade from the time Tony and Shuri sat for almost five hours straight talking science. Bucky had been concerned, since he had still thought Tony was a conceited prick who would feel threatened by a teenager being so much smarter than him. To Bucky’s surprise, Tony listened quietly, only cutting in to clarify an idea or to sketch out an equation or design for Shuri to fix. She was surprisingly patient, still teasing but helpful.

To be honest, most of the teasing was at Bucky’s expense. He’d been staying with the Wakandans for his recovery and Shuri had grumbled endlessly about _already having one too many overprotective brothers_. She was more than capable of handling herself against Iron Man, but Bucky hadn’t been able to shake the memory of leaving his sisters and Steve behind to go to Germany. Becca definitely hadn’t needed a bodyguard, but Bucky had still felt like he was abandoning them.

Readjusting to the world was hard. And that was before factoring in the aliens.

“Still front-heavy,” he finally answered Tony, eyes trained on the aircraft. It was drifting, herded toward the river by the National Guard’s missiles.

Tony grumbled something about metal alloys, plummeting out of sight between the buildings.

With the patience gained from hours in a sniper nest, Bucky tracked the movement of the alien ship, waiting for the moment it was clear of the city. He was watching the burning wreckage plummet when Natasha said, “Hawkeye needs backup.”

Bucky immediately dropped the heavy weapon and took off across the roof. Clint was stationed two blocks over, near where the aliens had made landfall. With their massive airships reduced to rubble, Bucky’s part of the fight was over anyway.

“I’m en route.”

When Bucky vaulted onto Clint’s perch, the rooftop was overrun by aliens. Bucky grabbed a broken arrow and jammed the shaft through a leg joint. The creature went down.

On the periphery of his vision, Bucky saw Clint jerk backward and mutter, “Shit.”

“Hawkeye?”

Bucky smashed an alien with his metal fist, trying to ignore the way his guts had turned to ice. Two more aliens got chucked off the edge of the roof and another went down under a heavy blow. Bucky could already hear the PR lecture he was going to get from Pepper.

Hostiles taken care of, Bucky dropped down beside Clint. “Barton’s hit.”

The buckles on Clint’s tac vest had dissolved along with the straps, the chemical reaction somehow melding them into the body armor.

“Fuck.” Bucky pulled his best knife out of its sheath. How were you supposed to get high-tech shit off if it was supposed to be impervious to sharp objects? “We need back-up.”

“Hey Barnes. Bucky.” Clint clawed at his vest, like he was trying to remove the smoldering material. “Make sure Kate gets to keep Lucky. And my bows.” He frowned, somehow looking distracted while his body armor _melted_ _into his skin_.

It was okay, Bucky was freaking out enough for the both of them.

“Only if,” Clint broke off coughing, eyes squeezed shut in pain.

Helpless, Bucky grabbed ahold of his hand, trying to keep him from touching the vest before he got it off with the knife gripped in his metal hand. There was chaos on the other end of the coms, and if Bucky had a third hand, he’d have ripped the earpiece out.

“Com’on Clint. You’re gonna be fine.”

Clint gripped his hand tightly as Bucky worked his knife through the material. “Only if she promises to take care of them,” he finished.

“Just hang in there. Everything’s aces. You’ll get to keep your bows and leave ‘em all over where people can trip on ‘em,” Bucky barely heard the words coming out of his mouth. “You gotta hold still.”

“And keep track of my tenants.” Clint’s eyes slid off to the side. “Somebody should… should fix the AC.”

“Damnit Clint!” Bucky managed to tear through the rest of the body armor, successfully tugging it off and hurling it away.

There were patches of material still clinging to oozing burns, but the wound itself didn’t look life-threatening. Bucky sat back on his heels. Hopefully there wasn’t other shit they didn’t know about these alien weapons.

Over the coms, Steve yelled “Status report.”

Bucky struggled to his feet, heart rate returning to normal. Or at least normal for being in the middle of an attack.

A massive tremor sent him collapsing back to his knees.

“They’re ramming the buildings,” Sam sounded unusually winded. “They know they’ve got no way home.”

Another shock rocked the foundation and Bucky just managed to wrap himself around Clint’s still form as the building crumbled beneath them.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> please don't hurt me
> 
> next chapter should be up Monday? ish?


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> First off, I wanted to say thank you for all of the amazing comments. I suck at replying, but y'all have definitely helped keep me motivated!! Also, sorry (not sorry) for the cliffhanger 😏😏 (but definitely sorry about the wait)

Everything hurt.

“We got them. Fucking hell, we got them.”

Was that Stark?

Wait. He was Tony now.

“I repeat, Barton and Barnes are accounted for.”

That wasn’t right. No names on the communications lines.  Steve was adamant about that.

“Bucky.” There he was. Bucky tried to answer, to call Steve a punk for sounding so worried. “Easy Buck. I’ve got you.”

Slowly, feeling started to bleed back into his limbs and Bucky bit back a yell. The shock of pain cleared his head.

Shit.

            Shit, Barton.

_Clint._

\---

\---

“Please tell me you didn’t sleep there.”

Bucky jerked upright in the plastic chair and glared at the door.

Sam held up his hands placatingly, revealing two cups of coffee. He handed one to Bucky and dropped into the chair beside him.

For a moment, they just watched the window silently. Beyond it, Clint slept peacefully, covered in gauze and bandages. The doctors didn’t know if the unnatural stillness was brought about by physical trauma or whatever weapon the alien shot him with.

Though the brunt of the building had fallen, quite literally, on Bucky. As his sore limbs kept reminding him.

“Thanks,” he said quietly, as the warmth of the coffee seeped into his bones.

Sam shrugged. “Thought someone should make sure you were awake before Steve came to give you a dressing down.”

If Bucky weren’t crawling out of his skin with worry, he’d have rolled his eyes. Soulmates were about balance; Sam and Steve were living proof of that.

“I think… I think he’s my soulmate.” Bucky’s eyes flicked down to the mug in his hands. “But I’m not his.”

There was a pause as Sam weighed his words. “You don’t know that for sure. Maybe you haven’t said his words yet. Or maybe you have and neither of you noticed.”

Bucky rubbed at his forearm, a habit that hadn’t formed until Clint had stumbled into his life. And Bucky was trying hard not to think about _Kate_ and _Lucky_ and whatever else he didn’t know about Clint. Hell, the guy could already have a soulmate.

“Clint’s a spy. You were a weapon.” Sam drained the rest of his coffee. “Now you’re both superheroes. I really wouldn’t be surprised if your bonding was a little wonky.”

There was a thud in the stairwell and Sam rolled his eyes fondly. “There’s my cue.” He picked up the empty mugs and stretched. “Go easy on him, he’s just worried.”

Bucky huffed. “Believe me pal, I know all about his worrying.”

Stifling a laugh, Sam headed for the elevator. He paused long enough to tap something in Morse code on the glass separating Clint’s room, then slipped into the elevator.

Seconds later, Steve threw open the door to the stairwell. He studied Bucky for a moment, arms crossed and looking exactly like his ma.

“Sam?” Steve finally asked, tipping his head toward the empty chair.

Bucky nodded. “You’re a lucky guy, Steve.”

The look of wonder on Steve’s face, like he couldn’t believe how lucky he was either, tugged at something in Bucky’s chest. He desperately wished he could go back to the winter Steve cried himself to sleep every night, talking about how no one would want him.

“How’s he doing?” Steve sprawled out in Sam’s chair, watching Bucky with a calculating expression.

Bucky shrugged. “I’m not a doctor.”

“Buck.” Steve sighed. “I don’t know what’s going on with you two, but we’re all worried about him. And I’m worried about you.”

Unsure how to respond, Bucky rubbed at his arm again, almost wishing he could scrub the crooked _Good Morning_ from his skin.

Steve caught his hand, tugging it away. “I remember your words. Do you think…”

“Stevie, I love him,” Bucky cut him off.

The room was silent, Bucky probably only imagining that he could hear the faint beeps of Clint’s machines through the bullet-proof glass.

“Come here.” Steve got up and pulled Bucky into a hug. “It’s going to be okay.”

\---

\---

Steve stayed for most of the morning, only leaving once Tony wandered in wearing rubber duck pajamas and futzing with a schematic of what looked like the common area’s kitchen.

Tony sprawled out over three chairs, tossing around projections with ease as he jumped from project to project. He kept up a running commentary the entire time, equally good at soothing Bucky’s nerves and at keeping him from getting lost in his head. For all that they’d clashed at the beginning, Bucky had actually started to enjoy spending time with Stark’s kid.

Bucky was halfway into another doze when Tony’s one-man debate over the most important element on the periodic table came to a halt. He frowned, pulling out his Stark phone.

Taking a look at the screen, Tony snorted. “Think this is for you, Old Man Winter.”

He tossed the phone at Bucky before taking his designs elsewhere.

“Hello?” Bucky answered, not sure why an unlisted number was calling him on Iron Man’s personal cell.

“Oh, good,” said a familiar voice. “How am I supposed to contact you when you don’t keep your phone nearby?”

Bucky blinked in surprise. “Shuri?”

“Who else?” she said, sounding distracted. “You people with your cell phones and _oh let me put this in my pocket where it can fall out_. What idiot came up with that?”

“I don’t actually know.”

Although she did make a good point. Bucky had no idea where his phone was at the moment. But his sweatpants didn’t have pockets, so it didn’t really matter.

“If I send you a file, can you verify some things for me?” she asked.

“Sure.”

There was a quiet _ping_ , then Bucky was looking at a picture of one of the alien guns.

“Is this the weapon that Agent Barton was shot with?”

“Yes.” Bucky frowned at the image. “How did you know?”

“I know everything. How have you not realized this yet?” She was quiet for a moment, then sighed. “Your friend called my brother.”

“And the princess has a bad habit of eavesdropping,” another voice cut in.

“Oh hush, Nakia, you were listening too.”

Shuri muttered something to herself and another image appeared on Bucky’s screen with more equations than he even wanted to fathom. His frown deepened. The garbled sound of air traffic control in the background indicated that they weren’t in Wakandan airspace. But he didn't have to wonder for long.

“Never fear, Bucky. We’re coming to help your friend.”

Looking at the confusing math, Bucky felt a sense of relief. Clint’s fate was now in the hands of the smartest mind in the world. “Shuri, I can’t…”

“Everything will be okay. We’ll be there shortly.”

The line cut out and Bucky was left staring at the phone in his hand.

\---

\---

True to her word, Shuri arrived in less than half an hour. Nakia stood with Bucky at the window as the princess flitted around the hospital room, carefully going over Clint’s symptoms and vitals. She spent some time speaking to the medical team, then stepped out again.

“He would have a better chance in my lab.” She folded her lab coat over one arm. “This is some reaction to alien technology. The professionals here are doing all they can, but it isn’t enough.”

Nakia sighed. “As long as you get to be the one who explains everything to the king. And Okoye.”

“Of course,” Shuri nodded, tapping at her kimoyo beads. “This advanced technology is a threat to all of us. If we don’t figure out how it works, how will we be able to defend the Earth from a large-scale invasion?”

“I liked it better when we thought Wakanda was at the cutting edge of technological advancement,” Nakia said.

Which was a sentiment Bucky could agree with. Some days, he found blenders mind-boggling. Not to mention Tony’s crazy inventions and Shuri’s casual brilliance.

Shuri brought up a schematic of the alien weapon, this time projecting its components into the air. “It is good to have beings smarter than us. It keeps us humble.”

 “You mean it gives you a challenge.” Nakia shook her head fondly.

There was a brief commotion in the hallway before the door to the stairwell opened with a bang, a girl about Shuri’s age storming in. Nakia stepped protectively in front of Shuri, slipping a set of bangles from her wrists. They lit up vibranium blue, clearly some sort of portable weapon.

But the girl didn’t even glance at the Wakandans. Bucky barely had time to step out of the way as she stalked up to the window, her intense look only softening slightly when she laid eyes on Clint.

Steve and Natasha followed through the door only seconds later.

“Sorry,” Steve said. “She got past security.”

Natasha grabbed Steve’s arm, forcing him to meet her eyes. “She has a right to go with him.”

The girl whipped back around to Steve. “’She’ is also right here.”

“Kate,” Natasha said, and Bucky did a double-take. “Clint was injured by alien tech and his best chance of survival is in Wakanda.”

Sighing, the girl – Kate – deflated slightly. “But I’m going with him.”

“Of course,” Natasha said, placating. “No one is stopping you.”

As if to make her point, she let go of Steve’s arm. He crossed it over his chest and frowned at the both of them.

“Are you Bucky?” Kate asked, sharp eyes darting over to him.

Surprised, Bucky nodded.

“Okay. You can come too.”

Bucky blinked at her, then looked back at Natasha and Steve. Who did this kid think she was to order around the Winter Soldier? There was a sharp huff from across the room. Out of the corner of his eye, Bucky saw Shuri sway slightly, brought around by a gentle nudge from Nakia.

“Right.” Nakia flicked her wrists, transforming the discs back into bangles. “The medical team should have everything prepared for travel. Let’s get your friend.”

It didn’t take long for them to get Clint and everyone else situated. Bruce showed up with Bucky, Clint, and Natasha’s bug-out bags that they kept permanently packed in the ready room, passing one to Bucky and the other two to Kate. She checked the top pocket for something, then slung one bag onto her back and the other onto her front.

Steve gave Bucky another hug before he boarded the plane and Natasha told him to look after ‘them,’ who he assumed to mean Kate and Clint. Then they were off, traveling at a speed that still managed to amaze Bucky. He situated himself at a window, watching the ocean slide past,

Kate paced the floor, restless. It put Bucky on edge and seemed to draw Shuri’s attention away from whatever complicated formula she was working on.

“You need to stand over there.” Shuri finally said, pointing across the plane. “I can’t think with you watching me.”

“Excuse me?” Kate asked, voice hard.

Shuri froze. “Did you… Are you…?”

Bucky tensed, wondering if he was going to have to referee a fight between the two. But after a moment, something clicked for Kate as well.

“You’re my soulmate.”

“Not the best timing, I’ll admit,” Shuri said. “But it is good to meet you.”

Kate was too busy looking awestruck. “I don’t even know your name.”

“Please, call me Shuri.” Looking uncertain, she added, “I’m the head of Wakanda’s technological outreach.”

“I’m going to need to sit down,” Kate said, clearly having made the connection that her soulmate was an actual, real-life princess.

Careful to broadcast his movement, Bucky steadied her with a hand under her elbow. Between finding out about Clint, breaking into Avengers tower, yelling at Captain America, _and_ finding her soulmate, it seemed like Kate had had a busy day.

“Not to interrupt, but we are here,” Nakia said, bringing their attention to the front of the plane.

Bucky kept ahold of Kate’s elbow after they landed, leading her out into the sunshine where T’challa and the Dora were waiting,

“Hello, Brother,” Shuri stepped down the ramp, Clint’s stretcher hovering just behind her.

T’challa sighed. “Do you listen to all of my calls?”

“Not _all_ of them,” Shuri said. “Only the interesting ones.”

Closing his eyes, like he didn’t know what else he’d expected, T’challa let out a slow breath. Once he’d collected himself, he turned to Bucky.

“Sargent Barnes,” he held out a hand. “It is good to have you back. Though not necessarily under these circumstances.”

“Thank you, sir.” Bucky shook T’challa’s hand, wondering just how much Steve had told him.

Nakia cleared her throat. “Did Shuri tell you the news?”

T’challa frowned, looking from his soulmate to his sister. “News?” he asked.

“Sorry, brother, lots to do. Talk to you-” Shuri cut off at the look on her brother’s face.

Both she and Kate were sporting matching blushes and shifty eyes. Nakia shook her head.

“Fine.” Shuri gestured to Kate. “Brother, meet Katherine Bishop, code name Hawkeye. And my soulmate.”

T’challa turned to Nakia, looking almost gleeful. “Did she freeze?”

“She told her she couldn’t think with her around.”

“Right.” Shuri ignored the two of them, motioning for Bucky and Kate to follow. “We have work to do.”

 

\---

\---

The palace guest rooms were nice, Bucky supposed. He’d stayed in one during his deprogramming, before moving out to help watch the flocks. If not for Steve fighting bad guys on live TV, Bucky might have just continued with his quiet existence.

Instead he’d gone to help and ended up with even more idiots to worry about.

He shifted in his seat, keeping track of the up and down movement of Clint’s chest as he slept. At least, Shuri said he was sleeping now, safely out of his coma. And Bucky trusted her with his life.

Tapping his fingers idly, Bucky’s eyes returned to his arm. For once, his sleeves were pushed up, his words visible. He’d never seen Clint’s handwriting. Though if the untidiness of the words on his skin was any indication, then there was a reason all of their post-mission reports and other forms were electronic.

Not that Bucky could say anything. He’d been left-handed, despite all of his instructors’ best efforts. The more he thought about it, the more he wondered if even _he_ knew what his own handwriting looked like.

Maybe there was still some small possibility that his bond wasn’t unrequited.

Beside him, Clint shifted, letting out a low groan. His eyes opened slowly, cataloguing the room in a drowsy imitation of his usual acuity.

Bucky scrambled for the hearing aides on the side table, a bright purple over-the-ear pair like the ones Clint wore when hanging out at the tower. He helped Clint’s sleep-clumsy fingers loop them over his ears.

Immediately, Clint took in the room with more awareness. “Bucky?”

“Hey, sweetheart.” Bucky couldn’t help the smile on his face. “You definitely gave us a scare.”

Clint made a choking noise, mouth opening and closing.

“Clint? Are you okay?” Bucky reached for the bead that would call Shuri back, but Clint caught his hand.

“I think,” Clint’s eyes were impossibly wide, “I think you’re my soulmate.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The last chapter will be up hopefully this weekend but I give up on scheduling and planning lol


	4. Chapter 4

“I think they’re falling back!” Sam swooped overhead, guns blazing.

Bucky dodged an energy blast that shattered the row of plate glass windows behind him. Seconds later, the Doombot went down under a hail of bullets. He tipped Sam a salute and rolled back to his feet.

There were few people Bucky detested more than Victor von Doom. He was a king or something, yet used his resources to try and take over the world every few months. At least that’s what Bucky understood. Really he was just there to shoot robots and try to keep the collateral damage to a minimum.

A straggling ‘bot must have picked up on the fact that Bucky was cornered and weaponless, because the next thing he knew another energy blast slammed him full force against a brick wall. Even with his enhancements it hurt like hell.

At the strategy meeting, Tony had started talking about harnessing cosmic energy and, to be honest, Bucky stopped listening. He’d been too busy wondering where the hell Clint was. For some reason, Bucky had thought the hard part was over. They were soulmates, wasn’t that enough?

Unless it wasn’t. Being sort-of friends with the Winter Soldier was one thing. But being soulmates? Maybe it was too much for Clint. Bucky wouldn’t blame him.

Another blast crumbled bits of the wall behind him. Bucky blinked brick dust out of his eyes, waiting for his aching body to respond. For the first time, he felt the weight of the last century crushing like a vice. Fuck, he was old.

The Doombot froze in its advance, jolting violently as electricity coursed through its circuits.

“James, we need you to focus.”

Natasha pulled him upright, her mouth set in a tight line. A ragged gash across her temple was bleeding sluggishly, and she looked tired.

The next few hours were a blur. Somehow, Bucky ended up running the media gauntlet and scowled at the reporters who asked for details about his time in Wakanda.

They probably meant the first time for deprogramming shit. But all Bucky could think about was the emotional rollercoaster of his most recent trip. First Clint in an alien-induced coma, then the ridiculous hope that something _good_ was finally happening, followed by Clint avoiding him for almost a full month.

Kate was still in Wakanda, staying at the palace so she could get to know Shuri better. Bitterly, Bucky wondered if that’s what he and Clint should have tried. None of this running away and hiding shit that Clint was pulling.

It took Steve physically dragging him away from the press to bring him back to the present.

\---

\---

Bucky plummeted through the darkness, his mind empty of everything but bracing for the inevitable impact.

Gasping, he jolted upright, unable to shake the feeling of the ground giving way beneath him. It was just in his head. A dream, that was all. Bucky shoved himself back against the headboard and tried to slow his breathing.

For some reason, he rarely dreamt about the present. His brain preferred to work through the memories of his past, viewed through the filter of Hydra’s programing. It gave the nightmares a sense of surrealism, which was fortunate he supposed. Waking up was easier when he could tell the difference between dreams and real life.

But that made the nightmares about his time after Hydra even worse.

Still feeling disoriented, he took the stairs to the common room. After that particular dream, he doubted he’d survive the elevator ride without an incident. Automatically, he switched on the coffee maker and pulled down two mugs; the purple one with some smart-ass saying, and a black one referencing a show Bucky hadn’t seen yet.

Clint had laughed himself silly when he first saw it, whisper-shouting, “ _Winter is coming_ ,” before collapsing against his seat snickering.

The memory jolted Bucky back to the present. The present where Clint was gone, and Bucky was left alone with his nightmares. He dropped to his elbows on the counter, bracing himself in an attempt to combat the feeling of falling.

Even if Clint didn’t want him as a romantic soulmate, they could have still been friends.

Bucky stared at the pot and considered leaving the coffee untouched. But he could already imagine Clint whining about wasted caffeine. He sighed, dragging his metal hand through his mussed hair.

“I’ll take a cup, if you’re sharing.”

Hydra had managed to train away Bucky’s startle-reflex, which sometimes proved to be a good thing. Otherwise, he would have upended the entire coffeepot when Sam appeared behind him, silent as a ghost. Wordlessly, Bucky poured coffee into both mugs. He slid the black one across to Sam and kept the purple one for himself.

Slumping back against the counter, Bucky waited for the first barb. He and Sam had been bickering since the moment they met. Mainly because they were kindred assholes who loved the constipated look Steve got whenever they rounded on him mid argument and demanded his opinion.

Instead of picking up their usual repartee, Sam sipped his coffee quietly and stared out over the city. Bucky followed, joining him on the couch in front of the windows. Feeling uneasy with a contemplative version of Sam, Bucky cradled his – _Clint’s_ – mug and tried to keep his thoughts from straying.

“Steve wasn’t the first person to say my words.”

Bucky blinked, slowly turning to face him. Apparently, they were the kind of friends who talked about _feelings_ now. Which was probably a good thing. Steve was too much of a fixer.

“Probably not as many times as you’ve heard yours,” Sam nodded to Bucky’s _Good Morning_. “But none of ‘em felt right. I think you know what I mean.”

Shoving away the memory of realizing he was falling for Clint long before he saw his words, Bucky shrugged. He looked at the bright lights outlining an unfamiliar skyline and felt a pang of homesickness for a time that had already passed.

Sam drained the rest of his mug before getting up to set it in the sink. “Go get your man. Steve is absolutely insufferable when you’re sad.”

Bucky huffed. “Easier said than done.” Afterall, Clint was a highly trained operative who decided to go off grid.

“I can help with that,” Natasha said from the doorway.

Sam jumped, grabbing onto the counter for support. “Fucking spies,” he muttered. “Good luck, Barnes. I’m going back to bed.”

\---

\---

The sun was just starting to peek over the horizon when Bucky landed the quinjet in an empty field.

He hopped down onto the hard-packed dirt, debris from the harvest dry and crunching underfoot. An old farmhouse stood at the edge of the field. It looked rundown, but all around there was evidence of progress and repairs.

Bucky crossed the wooden porch, taking in the unopened cans of sealant and the smell of fresh-cut boards. The peeling front door swung open easily and Bucky was greeted by excited barking. He only had seconds to brace himself against getting bowled over by seventy pounds of fluff and dog breath.

“Lucky? Did the mailman go by?” There was the sound of something clattering, then Clint’s confused voice returned, “at 6 in the fucking morning?”

Clint rounded the corner to investigate, clad only in Black Widow boxers and a fuzzy blanket that was slung around his shoulders like a cape.

He blinked. “You’re not the mailman.”

Bucky felt his heart stutter a little at the sight. He signed _good morning_ and Clint blinked again, like he was fully expecting Bucky to vanish from where he was kneeling beside his dog. Oblivious, Lucky nosed at Bucky’s hand, his body practically vibrating with puppy joy.

“This conversation needs coffee,” Clint said, finally. “And my ears. Also probably pants, hang on.”

With that he disappeared back into the house, leaving Bucky with an overenthusiastic golden retriever.

Coffee. Bucky could do coffee.

He located the kitchen easily, Lucky following close at his heels. Finding the coffee grounds was slightly more challenging. At least until he checked the living room. Bucky shook his head, taking the can from its perch on the fireplace mantle.

Once the coffee was measured out and set to brew, Clint still hadn’t returned. Bucky contemplated making breakfast. The pantry was empty of anything other than shelf stable foodstuffs – cans of condensed soup and MREs – while the freezer contained a bag of peas wrapped in a towel. Bucky shook his head at the makeshift icepack and closed the freezer door. Hopefully Clint was at least ordering take out. Bucky would rather starve to death than eat another MRE.

Clint stumbled down the stairs just as the pot was finishing. He made it into the kitchen before promptly tripping over Lucky. At least he was wearing pants this time around, though they sagged at the waist and the hems were shredded from wear.

Bucky passed him a mug before picking up his own, leaning against the counter like he wasn’t wound tighter than a ten-day clock. Behind him, the kitchen table was covered in tools: fletching, bow oil, bits of string and wire, and an assortment of other things. Clint propped himself up against the fridge on the opposite side of the kitchen.

 _I see better from a distance,_ he’d said before. But now, Bucky knew Clint. And he had never seen him look this wary.

“I’m sorry,” he said.

Bucky felt his stomach drop. He sipped his coffee and waited Clint out.

“I mean, you’re _you_.”

It was like being stabbed. Actually, it was much, much worse than being stabbed. Years of training was the only thing that kept Bucky from flinching.

“I…” He stopped, for the first time at a loss for words. He’d thought – _hoped_ – that Clint wouldn’t care about his past. Even that he could understand, at least a little bit. “I don’t want to be the reason you leave the team,” he settled on, eventually.

Maybe he could go back to Wakanda. Take care of the flocks with the laughing children who made games out of trying to sneak up on him and climbed his arm like a jungle gym. Bucky set down the mug, hot coffee sloshing over the countertop and burning his flesh-and-blood hand. The skin would be sore and red until his healing factor kicked in.

“I guess this is it.” Bucky tried to ignore the feelings of rejection, disappointment, despair. “I’ll be gone by the time you’re off medical leave.”

Clint frowned, like he hadn’t been expecting it to go so easily. Maybe he thought they’d fight. But Bucky was so so tired. Spending some time in Wakanda would probably be good for him.

“Wait.” Clint cut off his exit. “Why would you leave the team?”

Dragging it out seemed unnecessarily cruel. Bucky turned to him, knowing that his face betrayed everything. “I know that I can’t ever make up for what I did. What the Soldier did. But I’m trying to be a better person.”

“Fuck.” Clint was immediately in his space, reaching around to set his own mug on the counter. “That’s so not what I meant.”

He cupped Bucky’s face in his hands, meeting his eyes. His skin was warm from where he was cradling the ceramic.

“You are one of the strongest people I’ve ever met,” he said, quietly, like it was a secret. “Everything that happened to you, everything that was _done_ to you, didn’t change who you are.”

Thumbs stroked over his jaw, rasping slightly on the stubble there. Bucky found himself frozen, unable to look away from Clint’s sharp gaze.

“You’re a good man, James Barnes. And you deserve the world.”

Bucky carefully wrapped his own hands around Clint’s wrists. “What if I don’t want the world?”

“What do you want?”

“Just you. However you’ll have me.”

Clint traced the haphazard _Good Morning_ on Bucky’s arm, calluses rough against his skin.

“I can’t believe you called me sweetheart.”

“Well if you don’t like it-” Bucky trailed off teasing.

Clint ducked his head, cheeks pink as he mumbled, “I didn’t say that.”

“I fell for you a long time ago,” Bucky said, the weight of the admission almost nothing in the bright morning light.

“I think,“ Clint smiled ruefully. “I think I did too.”

It was obvious now, the way they’d drifted together after their first meeting. But Bucky had spent enough of his life contemplating what-ifs and maybes. He stopped fighting the urge to kiss Clint senseless, capturing his lips and trying to prove – to Clint, to himself, to the world – with his entire body that the moment was real.

“How long until they realize the quinjet is gone?” Clint asked, breathing ragged.

Bucky hesitated. “Come back with me?” he asked.

Clint debated for a few seconds, then nodded. “Let me grab my stuff.”

\---

\---

(They end up going out to breakfast first because there’s no breakfast food in the house and Clint wants bacon. As soon as they sit down, Clint presses their legs together under the table, like he can’t stand not touching Bucky. They keep grinning at each other, hands brushing over the salt.

And it’s sappy and ridiculous but Bucky wouldn’t have it any other way.)

**Author's Note:**

> Quick shout out to my buddy @larkabout who was kind enough to beta even though she doesn't even go here. And thanks to @jenjo93 for running this exchange and giving me wiggle room when my dumb ass went and concussed myself.
> 
> There'll be graphics at some point probably XD
> 
> come yell with me on [tumblr!](https://theproblemwithstardust.tumblr.com)


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